


to be so full

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Incubus!Archie, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which David is an incubus who feeds on affection and intimacy, and Cook is the neighbor that offers to lend a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be so full

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://abovetheruins.tumblr.com/post/124933720175/mythological-creature-aus) post on tumblr (a huge thank you to rajkumari905 for bringing it to my attention!) Title comes from a quote from _The Last Unicorn_ : “He thought, or said, or sang, I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full.”

The first time Cook has a dream about his neighbor, he doesn’t think much of it. He sees the guy occasionally, going to and from his apartment building, and they’ve talked here and there – nothing major, just the usual “Hi” and “Bye” and “How are you?” that you’d usually share with someone you see every so often. The guy’s name is David, and he’s new to the city, having left his hometown in Utah as soon as he turned twenty-one. He’s shy but friendly, and he always looks a little surprised whenever Cook talks to him. A little wary, too, like he’s not entirely sure what to do or say. It’s more endearing than annoying, and Cook’s not ashamed to admit that he finds the younger man cute as fuck.  
  
He’d make a move if he thought anything would come of it, but David always looks a little fidgety whenever Cook makes even a slightly flirtatious remark – not uncomfortable, just unsure, like he doesn’t know how to respond. Either way, Cook backs down and doesn’t try again. He kind of feels like David would run for cover if he ever actually asked him out – not because David’s not into him or anything (Cook has caught the younger man’s appreciative glances more than once, followed by a quick turn of the head and averted eyes once David realizes he’s been caught out) but because he seems kind of overwhelmed. New city, new people – Cook’s not surprised.  
  
He’s also not surprised when he wakes up one morning with David fresh on his mind, thanks to a dream he’d had the night before. It wasn’t the kind of dream he’d have expected to have about David, all things considered; nothing had really happened in it, actually. They’d been in Cook’s bedroom, but all David had done was stare at him, biting into his bottom lip like he sometimes did when he was thinking hard about something or unsure how to respond to something Cook had said. He’d reached over at one point, passing the palm of his hand softly over Cook’s shoulder, but he’d pulled away too quickly for Cook to do anything in response, and a moment after that Cook had woken up.  
  
It’s a little strange, but not really surprising. Cook doesn’t think anything of it.  
  
Until it happens again, and again, and again. Night after night he’ll fall asleep and dream about David, the both of them in Cook’s bedroom, Cook on the bed and David sitting on the edge, staring at him for a moment before he’ll lean over and touch Cook. It’s never anything even remotely sexual, never anything but innocent brushes of David’s hand over Cook’s shoulder or against his chest, or – once – through his hair. He never speaks.  
  
The dreams aren’t unpleasant, not by any means. They’re just… strange. He’s never had the same dream so many nights in a row (or ever, to be honest), and he has no idea how to make them stop.  
  
He almost brings it up with David one day, after he passes the younger man in the hallway, thinking it’ll be a funny story if nothing else, something to break the ice, but the moment he mentions dreams David seems to seize up, his shoulders going taut, and Cook quickly changes the topic.  
  
He resigns himself to the dreams after a time, and figures they’ll just go away on their own.

Until he wakes in the middle of the night to see David perched on the side of his bed, in the same position he’d been in just a few seconds ago in Cook’s dream.  
  
“David… ?” he starts, sure he’s still dreaming, but no – he reaches out and touches David’s arm, feeling the skin jump and shiver beneath his hand. David looks terrified, his eyes wide. Goosebumps flare in the wake of Cook’s touch. “David, what the hell are you doing in here?”  
  
David’s mouth works uselessly. He feels strung tight beneath Cook’s hand, like he’s seconds away from bolting. Cook carefully tightens his grip, just in case David tries to make a run for it.  
  
“I… “ David starts, swallowing once before trying again, “I… I’m sorry, I just – I needed to… “  
  
It’s a stuttered, jumbled mess of words. Cook raises a brow, waits David out. If he were more awake he might have demanded answers already, been a little harsher (because David had basically  _broken into his apartment_ ), but as it is he’s more curious than angry. What did David even want?  
  
David makes a futile attempt to tug his arm free, stammering the entire time. “I’m so – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I just – I’m  _hungry_ , and I wanted – “  
  
“Hungry?” Cook asks, completely bewildered. “Do you not have food in your apartment or something… ?”  
  
David makes a frustrated sound and falls still, turning blindly away from Cook’s gaze. “No! I’m not – it’s not that kind of hungry, not for – for food. I need. Um.” His face turns scarlet, and he glances at Cook from beneath lowered lashes, a quick, searing look that has Cook’s mouth dry in seconds.  
  
“Uh… “ Cook’s at a loss for words. David’s not asking for what Cook thinks he’s asking for, is he? There’s no fucking way.  
  
“Please, just let me go,” David pleads, pulling again at Cook’s grip. “I’ll leave, I won’t bother you again, just – “  
  
“Woah, woah.” Cook leans closer, gentles his grip on David’s arm, and waits for the younger man to look at him. “Hey, just – tell me what’s going on, okay? Tell me what you’re talking about.”  
  
David looks at him for a moment, much in the same way that he’s been looking at Cook in his dreams, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, his brows furrowed like he doesn’t know what to say. Eventually he sighs, avoiding Cook’s gaze, and says, “It’s a long story.”  
  
Cook smiles. “I’ve got all night,” he jokes, because at this point he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep even if he tried.  
  
David grimaces, like he was hoping Cook would say something else (or, better yet, just let him go). “You won’t believe me,” he says, quiet.  
  
Cook shrugs. “Try me.”  
  
  
  
It takes at least fifteen minutes of stuttered half-sentences and frequent pauses for David to explain that he isn’t exactly… well, human.  
  
“It happens sometimes in my family,” he says, pointedly not looking at Cook. “My sisters and brother – they’re not like me, but my mom… she told me her grandmother was one, and her father’s brother before her.”  
  
“They were… what, exactly?” Cook asks, confused beyond measure by this point.  
  
David’s exasperation (at himself, mostly, it seems) shows on his face as he tries to explain, his hands flailing a little as he speaks. “I need…. um, affection. Intimacy. I get these… these cravings for it? Like – like hunger pangs, I guess. Um. If I don’t get it, I go hungry, and I get weak and sick and it’s not. Not great.”  
  
Cook’s brows shoot into his hairline by the end of the first stuttered sentence and practically fly off his forehead by the last. Intimacy? “Are you talking about sex?” he asks incredulously, completely bewildered, because okay, while he isn’t against the idea, there are easier ways to get his attention than telling him some outlandish story and breaking into his goddamn apartment in the middle of the night.  
  
David flinches back as if Cook had struck him. “N-no!” he stammers, blushing hotly, though he’s quick to amend this with, “Well… I mean – “  
  
Cook barks out a laugh without meaning to, disbelief clear in the tone of his voice. “You  _are_!” he says, humor coloring his words. He doesn’t know what to think, only that David’s entire story makes no fucking sense. “Shit. You really think I’m gonna fall for that?”  
  
David gapes at him. “I’m not – I’m not trying to  _trick_  you. Oh my gosh, I wouldn’t do that, I – “  
  
“Wouldn’t sneak into someone’s bedroom in the middle of the night?” Cook interrupts, a little amused despite himself by David’s guilty flush. “Yeah, okay. Really, David, you got me, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”  
  
David opens his mouth as if he might protest, but seems to think better of it. His throat works as he swallows, and Cook feels a little bad for the tight, miserable expression that steals over his neighbor’s face. He’s tempted, strangely enough, to call David back, to say… hell, even Cook doesn’t know what he could possibly hope to say. Then he remembers that, oh yeah, David shouldn’t fucking be here, and he crushes the impulse as he watches David rise from the edge of the bed with short, jerky movements.  
  
“I’m – I’m sorry,” David says, quiet, his face red and pinched. He won’t look at Cook. “I won’t bother you anymore.”  
  
Cook watches as he clambers out the window, which he’d only just noticed is open. Cook waits a moment, until David’s footsteps on the fire escape fade away, and then he rises from the bed and latches his window shut.  
  
He lets out an explosive breath as he slumps back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling in a daze of confusion and disbelief.  
  
What the  _fuck_  had just happened?

//

  
David’s good to his word. A week goes by without a peep from him, a week of no dreams and no midnight visitors. Cook spots him all of once, coming out of his apartment with sweats and running shoes on. The younger man takes one look at Cook and ducks his head, darting past him with a mumbled, “excuse me,” and disappearing down the hall.  
  
He’d looked  _awful_. His face had been worn and tired, skin pale and eyes shadowed by dark bags like he hadn’t been getting any sleep. He’d looked thinner, too, the hoodie he’d been wearing nearly hanging off of his frame.  
  
Cook tries not to care. It should be easy – David had broken into his apartment, for Christ’s sake, planning to do gods know what to Cook in the process. He should be happy to cut all ties with the guy. It isn’t like they were that close anyway – a few scattered conversations in the hallway did not a close friendship make.  
  
Still, Cook kind of misses them now. David had been opening up to him, slowly but surely, and he was genuinely funny and witty in a way that he didn’t even seem to notice. More than once his blunt, sometimes acerbic remarks would send Cook reeling into full-bodied laughter, while David stood there and stared at him, totally confused as to whatever was so funny.  
  
It’s stupid, and it makes no sense, and damn it, Cook  _tries_  to remind himself of that every night as he glances at his (locked) bedroom window and remembers David perched on the edge of his bed.  
  
But after another week comes and goes without a sight of his suddenly reclusive neighbor, images of David’s exhausted face and tired, miserable eyes prompt Cook to ignore all of the common sense his mother has tried to instill in him all his life and knock on the door of apartment 7B.  
  
It takes a moment for David to answer; Cook hears the shuffle of feet on the other side of the door, followed by a few seconds of silence. He knows David’s probably peeking through the peephole at him, wondering if he should actually open the door or not.  
  
“C’mon, David,” Cook says. “I know you’re there. Open up.”  
  
A few more moments of awkward silence pass. Cook’s about to give up and go back into his apartment when he hears the click of a lock being released, followed by David’s pale, wan face peering out from behind his front door.  
  
“What, um. What are you doing here?” he asks, his eyes darting from Cook’s shoulder to his chest to his forehead, anywhere  _but_  his eyes. “Was there something you needed?”  
  
_To stop thinking about you for one goddamn second_ , Cook doesn’t say. “Can I come in?”  
  
David blinks, clearly taken aback. “I, um… yes?” He phrases it like a question – for some reason Cook has to stifle the urge to smile.  
  
David’s apartment is small, but tidy. Cook glances at the framed photos on the wall as he steps into the living room, his eyes trailing over the comfortable looking furniture and modest decor. There’s a tiny kitchen to the left and a short hallway to the right that must lead to the bathroom and bedroom, the walls all cream-colored and the carpets a plush, dark blue.  
  
“Uh, you can sit,” David tells him, gesturing to the beige couch in the center of the living room. He perches on the opposite end from Cook after a few awkward moments; he keeps shooting Cook these furtive glances, like he can’t figure out why Cook is there.  
  
_Join the club, buddy_ , Cook thinks, and settles back against the plush cushions.  
  
“Nice place,” he says casually, figuring that a few moments of small talk will give him the time he needs to figure out what the hell he wants to say.  
  
“Why are you here?” David asks bluntly. Apparently small talk is out of the question.  
  
Cook huffs out a breath. Okay, then. “I’m here because I wanted to see how you were doing.”  
  
David stares at him. “… Oh. Um. I’m fine?”  
  
Cook laughs, can’t help it. “Well, I’m convinced,” he says, giving David a look. There are dark shadows under the younger man’s eyes, and the listless way he keeps chewing his lower lip betrays his unease.  
  
“It’s not funny,” David says quietly, staring down at the space between their bodies. He looks small and unhappy and embarrassed, and Cook instantly feels like a heel.  
  
“Hey, no, I’m sorry. I’m being an ass.” Cook runs a hand over the back of his neck, turning to face David. Tells himself to just bite the bullet and go for it. “Look, David – Can we just – “ He waves a hand between them. “ – you know, clear the air? Between us?”  
  
David glances up at him, and Cook’s momentarily thrown off guard by the sight of those big hazel eyes peering at him through the fall of David’s lashes. “How?”  
  
“Why don’t you just – just tell me again, what you told me before. Explain it to me. I’ll listen this time.” At David’s wary look, Cook insists, “I promise,” and on an impulse mimes drawing a cross over his heart.  
  
That gets him a tiny smile, a brief curl of David’s lips, and Cook grins. It’s a start.  
  
  
  
David repeats his strange tale, about his family, his strange condition, and his need for affection and intimacy. It’s no less fantastical than the first time Cook had heard it, yet he doesn’t scoff or accuse David of trying to trick him. He can tell by David’s demeanor that the younger man believes every word he’s saying to be true, and so Cook gives him the benefit of the doubt.  
  
Afterwards Cook allows himself to process everything that David has just told him, and David gives him that time, sitting quietly on the couch. Cook can see him fidgeting with the frayed edge of one of the cushions, and it makes him smile.  
  
Something occurs to him. “Why don’t you just go out and, you know – “ He waves his hand, encompassing the sprawling city beyond the walls of David’s apartment, “ – find someone?”  
  
David glances warily at him. “Find someone?” he asks, like has no idea what Cook’s talking about.  
  
“Yeah, you know. Ask someone on a date. Or hell, go to a club. You’d have no problem finding someone there.”  
  
David blushes, and okay, Cook hadn’t realized how that would sound until it had come out of his mouth. What the hell, it’s the truth.  
  
“I wouldn’t know how to – “ David starts, and then, after a little helpless shrug, “I’ve never actually asked anyone out on a date before.”  
  
Cook stares at him, long enough that David starts to fidget.  
  
“What?” he asks defensively, making eye contact for what Cook thinks might be the first time that night.  
  
“Nothing, man,” he says placatingly. “It’s just – never? As in, ever?”  
  
David bristles. “I’ve  _been_  on dates,” he says. “I’ve just never really been the first to pursue someone myself. So.”  
  
Cook hesitates, letting that sink in. “How do you – “ He doesn’t say  _eat_. “ – get by, then? You said you get sick if you don’t have, er, affection or whatever. So – “  
  
“I manage,” David says tightly. His body language is closed off and withdrawn suddenly – well, moreso than usual – and Cook backs off.  
  
Words tumble across his tongue, fluttering in his throat, and he wishes he knew the right ones to reach for. He doesn’t understand why David brings out this weird sort of protective surge in him – he barely knows the guy! And yet it’s there, difficult to ignore and even harder to explain. He blames it on the fact that David looks so young, and that he’s alone in the city. It’s the brother in him, Cook rationalizes, that wants to help David out. That’s all.  
  
“What if I help you?” he asks eventually, though how he plans to do that Cook has no idea.  
  
David doesn’t seem to know, either. “Help me?” he asks, confused. “How?”  
  
“I’ll teach you how to – “ Cook doesn’t think he can say ‘pick someone up’ with a straight face. “ – ask someone out on a date.” That should be simple enough, right? Cook has plenty of experience in that area; it shouldn’t be too difficult to give David a tip or two.  
  
David tilts his head, studying Cook curiously. “Why would you do that?” he asks softly, almost wonderingly. “After what I did?”  
  
Cook shrugs, going for honesty. “Look, man, I’m still not entirely convinced about this whole thing, but I can’t take another day of you looking like a wounded puppy every time I go by – “ He ignores David’s stuttered protests. “ – and if this will help you, then, what the hell, it’s not like we’ve got anything to lose, right?”  
  
David’s eyes are suspiciously shiny when he looks at Cook, and his, “Thank you,” is soft and strangely heartfelt.  
  
Cook grins crookedly at him. “Just promise me you won’t try and sneak into my bedroom again, okay?”  
  
David’s smile lights up his entire face. “Deal!”  
  
  
  
They don’t really make any plans; Cook says he’ll stop by the next day, figuring they can get started then, and David agrees without much of a fuss. He looks so  _relieved_ , like Cook’s offered him up the answer to his prayers. It’s a little intimidating, really, especially considering Cook has no fucking idea what he’s doing, but he shows up the next day just like he said he would, deciding that the best way to handle this entire situation is to meet it head on.  
  
David offers him coffee and has a glass of juice for himself, and they spend an indeterminable amount of time awkwardly sipping at their drinks, carefully not looking at one another.  
  
Eventually it’s Cook that sets his mug on the coffee table, turning to David and saying, “Okay, tell me something.” He’s had a lot of time to think over David’s condition, between their conversation yesterday and the long, restless night he’d had afterward, and something has been nagging at him.  
  
David hurriedly sets his own drink aside, clasping his hands in his lap afterward to still them. “Um, yes? What do you want to know?”  
  
“Just so I’m clear on this,” Cook says. “This hunger you’re talking about – it’s not for sex?”  
  
David’s face flushes red, but he doesn’t stammer (well, much) when he responds. “It wasn’t, um. It used to be just – just closeness that I needed. Affection. A hug from my parents, or my siblings telling me that they loved me. Things like that. They always made me feel… well, full? And happy, you know? But then after I turned eighteen, those things stopped being enough. I started feeling this emptiness, like something was missing, and even though the love my family had for me still helped, it wasn’t – wasn’t enough.”  
  
“You needed more,” Cook says, and David nods, kind of miserably.  
  
“I’ve never been the type of person who just – just doles out affection, you know? I’ve never really been comfortable with other people’s hands on me, not unless it was my family or someone I knew, and sometimes not even then. But because of… what I am, I didn’t have a choice. I  _needed_  it, and I knew I needed it.”  
  
He wrings his hands, looking anywhere but at Cook’s face. “I went out on a couple of dates with girls from school, and church, but I hated how I felt about it. I’ve never really liked anyone enough to want to… to be close, like – “ He makes a vague gesture with his hand, but Cook gets what he’s trying to say. “I only said yes because I thought it would give me what I needed to stop feeling so… so empty all of the time, and so hungry. And I felt awful about that, because I was basically using these girls, and I felt so out of control, like this thing was driving my life and my decisions and turning me into something and somebody that I’m not. I felt like I couldn’t trust myself anymore.” His voice softens, his eyes falling to his hands, which are clasped tightly in his lap. “I still feel like that.”  
  
Cook doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what  _to_  say.  
  
“I left when I turned twenty-one. The cravings were getting worse, and I was sick and miserable all the time, and I couldn’t stand to see my family worrying about me anymore. And things were fine, for a while. I learned to just – to ignore it, to fight through the hunger pangs. But lately they’ve been growing stronger, and I got… desperate.” He turns his eyes to Cook, and Cook’s a little taken aback by the abject misery on David’s face, his wet hazel eyes and twisted lips a testament to the turmoil he’s feeling.  
  
“I am so, so sorry that I invaded your privacy like that, that I – that I did what I did. It was wrong, and I don’t have any excuse, and you have every right to – to report me to the authorities or ignore me forever or, or punch me or something.”  
  
Cook laughs without meaning to, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. “Sorry, sorry,” he chokes. “It’s just. I think I’d feel worse if I did that, actually.”  
  
David blinks. “Um. Okay. But you can still – “  
  
“David,” Cook says patiently. “I’m not going to sic the cops on you. I told you, I’m here to help.”  
  
It takes a while for David to respond; Cook figures he’s a little overwhelmed, but hey, that makes two of them. Cook’s still not entirely sure he won’t wake up tomorrow morning and realize this entire bizarre conversation has been nothing but a dream, but he’s flexible. He can roll with things.  
  
“Okay,” David repeats, slowly, like he’s still not sure he believes Cook. “Okay.”  
  
Something occurs to Cook. “How have you managed to get by on your own, if you haven’t, y’know – ?” He waves his hand, hoping that vague gesture encompasses David’s entire predicament.  
  
“Oh, um.” David scratches at his nose, turning away from Cook, almost like he’s embarrassed. “I can… I can kind of feed off of other people? It’s hard to explain, but it’s like a contact high, I guess? It doesn’t really, um, satisfy me, but it helps with the cravings.”  
  
Cook raises an eyebrow. “So it’s like affection by proxy, or something?”  
  
David nods. “It’s a… well, a pretty weak substitute for the real thing, but it’s all I’ve been able to find that makes the cravings bearable, so.”  
  
“Okay.” Cook files that information away. “Is there anything else I should know about this whole… thing?” He still has no fucking idea what to call it. Calling it a condition makes it sound like some type of disease, when it basically sounds like David was just born with it. A genetic abnormality, maybe? He’d said it ran in the family…  
  
David glances away, plucking at his jeans. “Um, I can sort of – there’s no easy way to explain it, and this will probably sound crazy, but I can sort of… influence the dreams of, of people around me.”  
  
_Okay…_. “Like… “ Cook hesitates, eyes going wide as he recalls the strange dreams he’d had before the night he’d woken up to find David in his bedroom. “Those were all… You did that? Made me dream those things?”  
  
David nods, lips twisting. “You can – you can still punch me, if you want.”  
  
Cook wants to be – hell, he doesn’t know – indignant or angry or something, but David giving him permission (again, even) to punch him seems to drain every bad feeling away from his body. He nearly chokes on a burst of laughter, David’s confused expression doing nothing but adding to his humor, and it takes a while before Cook’s able to control himself.  
  
“Okay, okay,” he says finally, once his laughter has died away. “In addition to the ‘don’t break into my bedroom’ rule, let’s add ‘don’t give me anymore crazy dreams.’ Oh, and stop telling me it’s okay to punch you.”  
  
David opens his mouth, seems to think better of it, and nods instead.  
  
_Onto the next order of business_ , Cook thinks wryly, promising himself a long swallow of the whiskey he keeps stashed above the fridge once he leaves David’s apartment. “Why don’t we start with you just – telling me how you’d act around someone you like. Someone you were dating.” It’d help if he had some sort of foundation to build off of first.  
  
“Oh, uh.” David looks away, an embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “The – in the dreams, that was. Um, that was it.”  
  
Cook blinks, recalling the sparse touches David had given him in those dreams, the staring. “That was… Oh.”  
  
This was going to be more work than he’d thought.


End file.
